


Filthy

by moor



Category: Saiunkoku Monogatari
Genre: Control, Dark Fantasy, Degradation, Humiliation, Manipulation, Multi, NSFW, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-26
Updated: 2010-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29987946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moor/pseuds/moor
Summary: Seiran x Shuurei. Dark fic originally written for a gift exchange on LJ in 2010. Please note the tags.
Relationships: Kou Shuurei/Shi Seiran
Kudos: 2





	Filthy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as part of a fic exchange from the https://saiunkoku-fic.livejournal.com community in December 2010. Unfortunately I don't know if I ever posted the second half. I'll take a look around to see if I can find it.

**Title:** Filthy  
**By:** beyondthemoor  
**Pairing:** Seiran x Shurei  
**Genre:** PWP, degradation, humiliation  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Warnings:** non-con, dub-con, rape, humiliation, degradation, language, OOC  
**Length:** 3,600 words

 **AN:** I had to cut this story in half due to time constraints – apologies to my requestor! I will have the second half ready sometime in the New Year.

* * *

  
**Name:** crystalwrenn  
**Pairing(s)/character(s):** Seiran/Shurei, possibly Shouka can be there as well to make it really perverse.  
**What you would like your story to be about/what would you like featured in your story:** Sex! Or at least some element of dominance and submission, even if genitals do not come into contact. Bonus points for use of a leash. I wanna see some hardcore psychological degradation happening here, while still having everyone in character (to an admitted degree).

* * *

  
“When Master brought you here, he assured me you would be a quick study.”  
Seiran’s cold glare settled on his apprentice, and she struggled to meet his eyes.  
She wasn’t used to seeing this side of him. In truth, it frightened her. A frisson shivered down her spine.  
“He promised me he’d prepared you, and yet you’ve done nothing but disappoint me.”  
“I’m sorr-.”  
“I wasn’t finished.”  
She flinched at his rebuke.  
“Ojou-sama,” he said, the faint tint of mockery colouring his words. “Are you a woman?”  
“Yes.”  
“You speak quietly like one now, but outside, you are outspoken. You flaunt your intelligence in the face of those around you, reject their offers of support and insist you are independent—yet you cannot manage this manor on your own. You rely on your father’s position and meager wealth to maintain your home; you rely on my arms to defend and protect you. You’ve made yourself such a spectacle that the only men who’ve requested your hand in marriage are those who do not see you as a woman, but rather as a means to an end; a foothold in the court; a bridge into the aristocracy.”  
His pacing footsteps echoed in the small, hot room; the stove burning fiercely, making her naked frame sweat as she trembled at her retainer’s harsh criticisms. She had her pride; she would not fold so easily.  
But hearing such things from him… truly struck at her heart.  
“You can’t hold property in your own name; you were raised spoiled and ignorant of what true suffering is—and everyone went through the civil war famine,” he said when she moved to speak. “Shame and debasement. You’ve never felt their lash, protected as you always were.”  
Slowly he moved, circling her.  
When he stood behind her kneeling form, he leaned over her, his hot breath on her ear.  
“Everything your poor father did for you, and this is how you repay him? By likely becoming a spinster, unmarriageable, or forced to pay a dowry that will never turn a profit -- unable to fulfill your role as a mother and provider for a new family of your own.”  
His whispers cut her softly.  
“You can’t even complete the most basic human requirement, procreation, can you? Not after what _those men_ did to you; you let them in, and what did they do? They ruined you.”  
Shuurei’s shoulders curled forward, her head bowing. She couldn’t speak; even if she hadn’t been forbidden, it would have been impossible.  
Never had his words before been so targeted, so cruel…  
“You need to remember some of the more important lessons in life, Ojou-sama,” he said in low, confident tone, “the first of which being _your place_.”  
Taking hold of her hair, he slowly pulled her to standing, and she stumbled as blood rushed back into her feet. The pins and needles made her antsy and uncertain in her steps.  
“We’ll review as we go.”  
“No, I need my clothes, I need--.”  
“Clothes are a privilege you will need to earn back.”  
With a gasp, she stumbled and followed along behind her new master.

“Cook the evening meal. The stove is already hot.”  
Shuurei’s amber eyes widened in concern. “I have no apron or clothing to protect me from the heat--.”  
“Then be careful.”  
Biting her lip, her shoulders hunching as she tried to cover as much of her nakedness as possible, Shuurei began. And at each movement, whether chopping or frying or stirring, her master criticized her: the sizes of the pieces were irregular; the way she held the knife was inefficient; the pan wasn’t heated to the correct temperature. Everything she’d thought she’d done so well before now felt like it had become a weakness.  
Regardless of the heat, he made her stand closer to the stove, until the drips of frying oil spat out of the pan against her skin, burning her with each flick of chopstick or spoon. She grit her teeth even as her eyes watered at the tiny pains that assaulted her.  
When Seiran stilled her hand on the knife, Shuurei’s heart dropped into her stomach, sensing what would come.  
Before it could, though, a knock sounded at the door, and their eyes lifted and met.  
“Answer it.”  
“I can’t like this--!”  
“Now.”  
Cheeks burning with anger and frustration, Shuurei swallowed hard and went to get the door.  
Her hand shook as she swallowed again, and cracked it open, just enough to speak. Behind her, her tormentor took up position, and placed a hand atop her head, smoothing down her hair. With a light pressure, he signaled she should respond.  
“Hello?”  
“Shuurei-neesan? I’m looking for… is everything all right?”  
The young boy who occasionally ran their market deliveries home for them paused when she didn’t automatically open the door in welcome.  
Shuurei felt Seiran’s hand slide down to her shoulder, his other hand resting possessively at her hip.  
“I… I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well,” she replied, her mouth going dry when she felt a calloused thumb slowly dip forward and circle the sensitive skin of her inner hip.  
“Oh, I’m sorry to bother you – is Seiran there? I was asked to fetch him to see if he could help us fix…”  
Shuurei gasped as the hand at her shoulder trailed across her clavicle to her neck, then slowly down, teasing the pale skin between her breasts, brushing the underside of one, then the other. Fingers clenching on the door frame, her eyes shut a moment as she tried to control her reaction.  
“Shuurei-neesan?...”  
“I’m s-sorry, he’s not here right now. I’ll let him know you’re looking for him,” her voice raced upward in pitch on the last syllable as the hand at her breast suddenly cupped her and thumbed a nipple.  
To her humiliation, it stiffened under his attention – and against her back she felt his silent chuckles reverberate, deep in his chest.  
“I’ll go back then. Thank you, I hope you feel better!”  
“Thank you,” she tried to speak, but the next moment the door was pushed shut, cutting her off.  
His smirking lips moved against her ear, for her to hear, only.  
“Good girl, there’s hope for you yet.”

“Show me what you did.”  
Confused, she arched her brow at him.  
“Show me what you did. With him. Them.”  
Understanding more fully, her hands fell to her sides, self-conscious.  
“No,” she said softly, and with more conviction. “No.”  
“You refuse? Defiance isn’t a very flattering trait in a wife, Ojou-sama.”  
“That is private! And _this_ is absurd,” the flesh of her palm dug under her nails.  
“So you need to be disciplined?”  
“No!”  
“I believe otherwise,” he retorted smoothly, and took her hands in his, looping a thick line around them and raising them above her head.  
“What are you doing, Seiran?” she asked, the first signs of panic tinting her voice.  
“Discipline, Ojou-sama.”  
He looped the rope over the top of a ceiling beam, securing her hands above her.  
“And if you won’t comply with me, you can explain yourself to your father.”  
“What!”

From the dark depths of Seiran’s room, her father emerged.  
“Shuurei, you have disappointed me.”  
Her bluster and defiance fell, struck down by her father’s displeasure.  
“But I can explain! This is a mistake!”  
“If so, then please enlighten me.”  
Her petite form shaking, she turned as much as she could to plead with her father.  
“I knew what I was doing, but it went further than I meant to. I’m sorry, I was caught up with… work.”  
“Disillusionment or dedication, it made you unmarriageable.”  
Her shoulders started to sag, but were prevented from doing so by the ropes, which were pulled taut by her movement.  
“I had to, for work. If it had been Seiran, would you have taken this so far? If I’d been a man, would it have even mattered?”  
“That isn’t the issue, Shuurei.”  
He nodded at Seiran, who went to stand behind her again; and again she felt his warmth against her back.  
“So how did he start?”  
“Not in front of my father,” she growled, her fingers curling into fists, but the restraints preventing her holding them for more than a second or so.  
“Oh? You still have dignity to defend?”  
“I still have pride.”  
His hands gently circled hers, holding on to the rope that suspended them from the ceiling.  
“You do?”  
His fingertips drew trails down her arms, flattened their palms against her sides, then smoothed up under the soft mounds of her chest, tickling their undersides again.  
Shuurei’s traitorous shivers were not in fear this time, she was ashamed to admit.  
“Yes, I do,” she maintained, her eyes darting between the wall and her father.  
Her feet fidgeted as his hands moved upwards, cupping her.  
“Does your pride protect you?”  
Seiran’s words were spoken low, in a persuasive tone that she had rarely heard from him.  
Each thumb crawled achingly slowly up the curves of her breasts, bordered their peaks, but retreated before crossing onto the velvety nubs.  
And repeated.  
Her features pinching in discomfort (she told herself, fervently, it was discomfort), she sniped back, “Yes, it does.”  
“What does it protect you from?”  
Up his fingers went, tantalizing—no, torturing, she told herself, even as her heart beat a stitch faster—and down again as she replied.  
“Everything.”  
“Explain ‘everything’, Shuurei,” her father ordered, his arms crossed at his chest, his long, crimson robes flowing to the floor like those of a magistrate deliberating judgment.  
Shuurei tried to control her breathing—it had sped up, become harsher, despite her efforts to remain calm—and focused.  
“It protects me from derision, for the work I do.”  
Up went Seiran’s fingers, so close, so close…  
“It protects me from scorn, and shame.”  
And down they went, tracing each inch of her curves…  
“It protects me from fulfilling outdated expectations, when I am more valuable in other roles.”  
Up once more…  
Shuurei’s stomach tightened in anticipation—  
Then the silver-haired man’s breath blew moistly against her ear, confirming she wasn’t the only one reacting to his ministrations, and she admitted at last, “And it protects me from being hurt.”  
\-- the pads of strong, male hands finally cupped her fully, weighing and measuring her breasts, her nipples peeking between his thumb and forefinger.  
Unable to hold back any longer, Shuurei let out the high gasp that had been building deep in her belly when his touches had begun, heat pooling there in replacement. A low throb had started between her thighs, and frustration was following close on its heels. She nearly choked on a sob of pure want when Seiran gentled his ministrations.  
“Do you fear pain, Shuurei?” her father asked, still observing her, deciding whether she was being honest.  
“No,” she replied, and felt her shoulders tense as capable fingers rolled her nipples, their points tightening in pleasure.  
Then those same fingers suddenly tweaked her, eliciting a shocked cry.  
“It seems you lied, Shuurei.”  
“No!”  
“Yes. You will be punished.”  
“But I—“  
“Seiran, if you please.”  
Behind her Shuurei felt her faithful retainer’s body shift away, the ropes holding her up loosening until she fell to her knees. Her legs, too numb from being stretched out, couldn’t support her. The ground was unforgiving, and she winced as he half-dragged her to his futon.  
As Seiran arranged her where he wanted her, she felt her chin raised—to stare at her long-time friend’s tented trousers.  
“So you can now show us what you learned, in your time as an undercover official for his Highness,” instructed her father patiently. “Please start when you’re ready.”  
Shuurei felt her throat close up.  
No. Impossible.  
She felt panic rising in her, bubbling and hot.  
What she’d done in private, in her role, had always been just that – private, to some extent. There was no cross-over between her role, her position, or her true personal life. Her family… Never had she had to ‘perform’ for an audience of anyone she knew, or who knew her and who she really was… Never had people she cared about, or who cared about her, been involved.  
While she’d been able to separate her ‘true’ self from her role before, having the two worlds collide made her balk. Now, it felt too intimate, too revealing, too explicit.  
It was then she wondered how Seiran was faring.  
How could he stand there like that, himself being treated like an animal?  
She dared to glance up at him, but his stoic expression gave her no clues as to how he felt about their shared predicament.  
“Do you have to bring Seiran into this?” she begged.  
“He’s always been there for you—think of it as him offering you a way to redeem yourself.”  
Knowing it was better to just get the entire punishment over with—Shuurei brought her hands to Seiran’s belt. Under her breath, for his ears only, she apolgised with utmost sincerity, and wondered what on earth he had done to deserve her father’s wrath as she had.  
With a confidence more false than felt, she tugged down his pants and tried to imagine him as just another ‘client’ she’d had to pump for information.  
As she took him into her mouth, she pretended it wasn’t her best friend’s rear flexing under her fingertips; it wasn’t his hands threading adoringly through her hair; it wasn’t his muffled, pleased grunts that filtered through her detachment to her ears.  
The grip in her hair tightened minutely as Seiran encouraged her, pushing against the back of her head to lead her rhythm.  
“So this is how you interrogated them? Were you successful? Was it worth your reputation becoming so tarnished?”  
Unable to speak, taking the man she clung to even deeper, she relaxed her throat as she hummed her assent.  
\--and suddenly felt him stiffen and shove her away forcefully, a hand firmly gripping her shoulder.  
Understanding her mistake, Shuurei looked away while Seiran panted over her.  
When he gave her a quick squeeze of reassurance, she glanced over her shoulder at her father again.  
“I am not ashamed of what I did. I am employed by his Highness to serve Saiunkoku, and I did so.”  
“What else did you do?”  
_She was proud of her role, her position.  
She was not ashamed.  
She had done nothing wrong.  
She was proud of her role, she was not ashamed, she’d done nothing wrong…_  
The mantra repeated in her head as she swallowed thinly.  
“Your virginity was compromised, wasn’t it? You were penetrated.”  
“Yes,” she admitted, the sick, roiling feeling returning to her stomach a moment, before receding.  
_She was proud of her role, she was not ashamed, she’d done nothing wrong…_  
“Did you enjoy it?”  
_She was proud of her role, she was not ashamed, she’d done nothing wrong…_  
“Sometimes.”  
_She was proud of her role, she was not ashamed, she’d done nothing wrong…_  
“By more than one person?”  
_She was proud of her role, she was not ashamed, she’d done nothing wrong…_  
Shuurei’s lips thinned.  
Would admitting anything further compromise the confidentiality of her mission?  
At this point, she realized, there were no secrets. Somehow her father had already ascertained the more demeaning details of her last role.  
“Yes.”

And then they’d made her show them how she’d crouched, on her hands and knees, her rear in the air, as she’d prepared to take a man inside her.  
Or how she’d had to remain on her hands and knees, taking two of them at once, one in her mouth, another from behind her as both had groped and palmed her roughly.  
One of her ‘clients’ had ‘treated’ her once—by taking her to a luxury undergarments maker’s shop. She’d hoped it would give her a chance for privacy, if only for a few minutes. It had led to more degradation as he’d insisted on keeping her at his side as the seamstresses had measured her, though. Garment after garment he made her try on, some little more than fantasy costumes, not clothing, and he would trot her up to other patrons and ask them what they thought of her new wardrobe. Their comments had been scathing, as they’d assumed she was a common prostitute. When he’d made her speak to the seamstress in charge and ask her herself, with her hands supporting her meager evidence, if they had anything to help her ‘gain some leverage’, he’d laughed at her.  
But the worst had definitely been one ‘client’ in particular. She’d had to escort a man to a ‘meeting’ once, where he’d made her, and the other female companions, strip to their undergarments in front of several of his colleagues to show they had no hidden weapons. They’d been blindfolded the entire time. That accomplished, he’d promptly proven how docile and compliant she was in particular, how obedient, as he made her sit on the edge of a table with her legs spread, her intimacy on display for all to see, as she fondled her own breasts until they decided she was ‘ready’ for them to each take their turn with her. Her blindfold had remained in place the entire time, so she never knew who was next, or what to expect. It was one of the few times she’d actually feared for her safety.  
It had struck at the time, with a conundrum: which was worse, when he left his seed inside her, or on her? If it was inside her, she couldn’t see it, but she could feel it; if he made a spectacle of it all over her, it was almost as if he’d tried to brand her for all to see—even if it was simply temporary until she could wash it off. She hadn’t come to any conclusions, though.  
She’d vomited as soon as she’d returned to the privacy of her rooms, after that horrific encounter.

And now she was forced to retell each story, each coupling, each grueling detail.  
“And were you ever aroused by any of these interactions?”  
But this was almost worse.  
Because she knew they could tell if she was lying.  
“Yes.”  
“And did you ever enjoy any of these interactions?”  
“Yes.”  
“Seiran, do you think you could guess which ones Shuurei enjoyed?”  
“Yes,” he said, and immediately Shuurei felt herself pushed onto her hands and knees, her breasts engulfed by warm hands that immediately set to stimulating her already-hardened nipples.  
She didn’t bother trying to hide her gasp of excitement.  
“Yes, please,” she breathed, her eyes closing in relief. It had been so long since she’d returned from her assignment, and she hadn’t indulged even in solo endeavours.  
As Seiran positioned himself behind her, his chest against her back, Shuurei felt a hot hardness pushing between her legs; she bent forward, raising her ass in the air in invitation. But Seiran’s self-control was legendary and he withheld, preferring simply to rub enticingly against her throbbing sex.  
“Seiran, please,” she whispered, grinding her hips against his, and she heard him hiss and flex against her.  
“Master?” he asked, his voice gruff with need.  
“No.”  
“Father,” Shuurei asked, a hand snaking between her legs to circle her most sensitive bundle of nerves. As they came across Seiran’s member, she felt him twitch, he was so sensitive. And hard. “Please, I need to. I learned so much on my assignment, I can’t go without it.”  
“What do you want?” he demanded.  
Was he going to make her say it?  
Seiran’s cock thrust particularly firmly between her legs; it was now covered in her slickness, and she could hardly contain her groan as she felt him focus more attention on her nipples, teasing them into rock hard peaks.  
“Please let us--.”  
“No.”  
“Please let me--.”  
“No.”  
Shuurei wanted to cry in frustration, but a quick pinch returned her sanity—sort of.  
“Oh please let him take me like a whore,” she begged with a sob. “I want him to fuck me.”  
Seiran’s control slipped as Shuurei tightened her thighs around his cock, and he sucked in a breath. Anything to get him closer to granting her release--!  
“Master, please…”  
A pause.  
Then…  
“…Proceed.”  
And before the last syllable had been uttered, Seiran had impaled Shuurei with his painfully hard shaft, hammering into her as he cursed her tightness and called every filthy name he knew.  
And beneath him, writhing in ecstasy and shame, Shuurei’s heart swelled as she met every thrust for thrust. The arousal she felt was nothing short of extraordinary, the exquisite fulfillment at being debased and used made her body sing under Seiran’s rough handling. And when he ordered her to arch her back until it hurt, his nails leaving bloody crescents in her skin, she nearly wept in happiness.  
It was the most surprising thing she’d learned, while on her assignment – that the practice of being so psychologically and physically degraded during such a passionate encounter could heighten its intimacy and enjoyment. Now, she couldn’t do without it. She had decided she must be partly broken, to enjoy such things, or that it had become a learned response following her assignment; but thank god for Seiran, who could pleasure and torment her in equal measure without even trying. She needed him, loved him, hated him for how easy he could manipulate her, and couldn’t do without him.  
When her father permitted their release, it was like a storm unleashing its fury on a drought-suffering field—torrents of emotions flooded them while white lights blinded them, and she screamed—Seiran roared—at its impact.  
Shuurei’s heart pounded and she shuddered as she felt Seiran’s hot seed hitting her clenching internal walls, and he slumped heavily atop her, spent. It was only then she noticed their shared sweat and the fulfilling glow she’d missed, lingering around the edges of her awareness.  
“You’re filthy,” remarked her father as he turned away to leave them.  
And with a content, satisfied nod, she agreed.  
“Yes.”

Part I – End.


End file.
